


Sick Day (won't you let me take care of you?)

by since_I_saw_vienna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect (?), Sickfic, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, they're brothers your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29459610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/since_I_saw_vienna/pseuds/since_I_saw_vienna
Summary: It is Valentine's day, and Tommy is laying sick in a school bathroom.Or; Tommy finds himself in an unfortunate situation and calls his older brother for help.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 19
Kudos: 717





	Sick Day (won't you let me take care of you?)

It is Valentine's day, and Tommy is laying sick in a school bathroom.

The porcelain sits cooly against his cheek, and Tommy is too tired to recoil in disgust. It's repulsing, the thought of just how unsanitary the entire place is lurks at the back of his mind. He can only kneel on the tile weakly, though, and think about how he'd rather be anywhere else. 

His hair is plastered to his forehead, slick with sweat, and he feels dizzy despite sitting down. He feels hot, his head aches. Tommy hates Valentine's day. 

With a violent turn of his stomach, Tommy regrets forcing himself to eat breakfast that morning. His stomach is empty, now, and the toast he hastily made is now in the porcelain bowl. He gags again but nothing comes up, and Tommy is _tired_ . His limbs feel so heavy, like he's wading through molasses _._ But he forces his eyes open, anyway. He refuses to pass out in the university restrooms of all places. 

He'd woken up that morning feeling slow and achy, head pounding, but brushed it off. Tommy's never been the best at knowing when he's sick, anyway. He simply pushed through it and dragged himself to school, unwilling to miss the one day of the week he actually had classes to some illness. 

He couldn't even call his parents to come get him, he realizes, as they're off on some trip somewhere. Tommy screws his eyes shut tight. Every little motion sends his head spinning. God, he hates Valentine's day. 

There's no way he can go back to class, he doesn't think he'd even make it to the door. Riding the tube sick doesn't sound very appealing either. He wouldn't make it there on foot with his head pounding like this and the nausea in his gut anyway. Could he drag himself outside and call someone to come get him? Who would even pick him up from college in the middle of the day? His list of friends who are both available and able to drive is minimal to say the least. 

Tommy lets out a groan and his head drops down to the filthy toilet seat once more. He really, _really_ hates Valentine's day. 

A few painful moments pass as Tommy weighs his options further. Phil is definitely busy, he's got adult shit to do and all that. He lives kind of far, too. Tubbo can't drive. Jack is probably also busy, he'd also feel bad bothering the other man. Techno lives in America. Wilbur… well, there's really no reason _not_ to call Wilbur. It's a thirty minute drive, though, and Tommy loathes the idea of making his friend drive all that way just to pick him up like he's in gradeschool.

Still, the toilet seat sticks to his cheek and the disgust is really building in his gut the longer sits on the bathroom floor. Tommy lets out a sigh. Wilbur it is, then. 

He tries to stifle the embarrassment he feels dialling Wilbur's number, luckily just exhausted enough as to not care too much. The older picks up on the fourth ring, the entire time leaving Tommy to debate just hanging up. 

"Tommy? What's up, aren't you in college right now?" Wilbur's voice crackles through his phone speakers, and Tommy refuses to acknowledge how it makes the tension drain from his shoulders slightly.

"Heyy big dubs, funny story about that actually-" Tommy croaks out, voice rough. He winces. He sounds like shit. "How free are you right now?" 

"What- Tommy, what? Are you okay? What do you mean?" He can hear the faint concern picking up in Wilbur's tone already. The older man has a bad habit of worrying far too much. 

"I mean, theoretically, if I was stuck at school and needed a ride home, would you be able to come get me?" Tommy traces the edges of the tiles on the floor with his eyes.

There's a pause from the other line. Tommy winces. "...What?" 

"Okay, so, like- say that, theoretically, I woke up feeling like shit today, and went to school anyway, and now I'm stuck in the school bathroom still feeling like shit. But, like, worse." 

"... Right. so you got sick?" Tommy hums in vague agreement. "And you're at college and need me to come get you."

"You got it, big man. Right on the money," Tommy confirms.

"Why can't your parents pick you up? That's like, their job or something," Wilbur quips, feigning exasperation, but Tommy can hear rustling from the other end anyway. 

"Well they can't come get me if they aren't home, can they? They're on a trip or something," Tommy says, rolling his eyes, though Wilbur can't see him. The older man hums. "You don't have to stay for long," Tommy adds, "just drop me off at home and I'll sleep it off or something." 

"I'll be there in forty. Do you need me to stay on the line, Toms?" Wilbur's tone softens, honing in on the way Tommy sounds like he's on the verge of passing out. 

"No, I'll be fine. Text me when you get here so I can drag myself outside, though." 

"Will do, see you in a bit, Tommy." There's a click as the call ends, and Tommy's head drops down to the toilet bowl again with a dull thud. Man, he really hates that. His head is pounding again, though, and Tommy really doesn't think he can muster the energy to keep his head up any longer. 

He feels flushed, like all the heat in his body has congregated in his face, and sweat is making his hair damp. Tommy wrinkles his nose, vision swimming. The buzzing incandescent lights make his head hurt. He is flushed and uncomfortable and dizzy, and Tommy really regrets going to college today. 

He spends his forty minutes until salvation idly tracing the floor tiles with his eyes, emailing his teacher that he will not, in fact, be returning to class. It feels like far too long before Wilbur's text cuts through his thoughts with a resounding _ding_ , and Tommy struggles to his feet. He is wholly lucky that he'd already emptied his stomach, because he's pretty sure that he'd be throwing up again otherwise. 

His steps are shaky as Tommy makes his way towards a sink, half-heartedly splashing some water on his face before making his way outside. The sun nearly blinds him, and he almost falls several times, but eventually Wilbur's little silver car comes into view. 

Tommy slides into the passenger seat, and there's a beat of silence, before:

"You look like shit."

"Oh, fuck off."

Wilbur laughs, drawing a little smile out of Tommy, before he's tossing a water bottle over to the younger boy. "You need to drink," is all he offers in explanation. 

Tommy shrugs and unscrews the cap. "You know my address, yeah?" He rumbles, head falling against the cool glass of the window with a thunk. He screws his eyes shut in an attempt to block out his splitting headache, but it only serves to have him miss the concerned glance Wilbur throws his way. 

The older man reaches over to rest the back of his hand to Tommy's forehead, pursing his lips. Tommy leans into the touch subconsciously. Wilbur's hands are cold. "You're really warm, Toms." Tommy just hums in response. 

There's a few beats of silence as Wilbur pulls out his phone, Tommy drifting out of awareness. It takes him a moment to remember they're supposed to be moving. "W'lbr? Are we going?" 

"Yeah, change of plans, Toms. We're going back to my flat," he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. 

Tommy sits up, furrowing his brow. "You don't 'ave to do that, Will- I can- I'm fine on my own, really."

"Too late, I already told your parents. You're stuck with me." 

"But Will-"

"Go to sleep for a bit, okay Toms? It's a bit of a drive. I'll wake you when we get there," Will cuts him off, tone soft. 

Against his better judgement, Tommy is tired and Wilbur's car is safe, and he's asleep before they make it out of the parking lot. 

Tommy wakes to someone shaking his shoulder and a familiar voice filtering into his ears. He feels oddly rested. 

Wilbur's flat hasn't changed much since the last time he's seen it, but it still fills him with a pleasant comfort nonetheless. He insists on stumbling back to the house on his own, determined not to be more of a bother than he already has been, and promptly collapses onto the older man's couch. It's soft as Tommy shoves his face into the cushions, and smells like Wilbur (he refuses to admit that it's comforting). 

"Up here, Toms, can you sit up for me, bud?" Wilbur calls, holding some kind of pill bottle as Tommy wrenches his head up. "For your fever," he murmurs, dropping a few pills into Tommy's hand.

"Thank you," Tommy mumbles after downing the pills with the rest of the water from the bottle Wilbur handed him earlier. The other man swiftly hands him another, much to Tommy's faint surprise. It's kind of nice how attentive Wilbur is, if foreign. Tommy's always taken care of himself when he's sick. His throat feels dry despite drinking moments before. 

"No problem, have you eaten today?" The older man questions idly, tossing a blanket over him. 

Tommy nods, wincing, "yeah, but I threw it all up earlier."

Wilbur rubs a few circles into his back sympathetically, and Tommy leans into the touch. "We'll try again later when the fever settles, yeah? Why don't you try and get some rest?" He makes to stand up, but Tommy catches his wrist. 

"Uh, could you- could you stay? Here?" He stutters, glancing away. Wilbur grins. 

"'Course, Toms," his brother murmurs, plopping down onto the couch. And he does. 

Up is playing on the television, and if at some point Tommy migrates to Wilbur's side, neither of them mention it. 

"Hey, Will?" Tommy murmurs, eyes trained on the screen. 

"Yeah, Toms?" Wilbur asks, voice just as soft. He has his arm slung around the younger boy's shoulder, Tommy folded into his side. It's almost surprising how small the lanky boy can make himself.

"I-" his throat closes over, and Tommy swallows, "thank you, Wilbur." 

"No problem, kid. What kind of brother would I be if I left you home alone sick?" 

"Stop, you'll make me cry." 

Wilbur laughs, squeezing Tommy's shoulder. "C'mon, I'll make you some soup. Do you want me to put Phil and Techno on the phone?"

"That would be nice," he whispers, stumbling to his feet to follow Wilbur into the kitchen. 

"Here," he says, sliding his phone over to the younger boy as he collapses into one of the chairs. 

"Wilbur?" A voice questions, warped slightly from the phone speakers. 

"Hey, Phil," Tommy mumbles, laying his cheek flat on the table. 

"Tommy? Why're you calling from Will's account?" The younger boy shoots Wilbur a pleading look, staying silent. The older man rolls his eyes and grabs the phone.

"Tommy's staying with me for a bit," Wilbur says, rustling around in one of his cabinets for a pot. 

"Are you guys having another meetup without me?" Techno juts in, a teasing lilt to his usual monotone. 

Wilbur chuckles, turning back to Tommy and setting the pot down on the counter. "No, no, Tommy's sick and I brought him back to my flat to look after him." 

"Is he okay?" Phil asks, worry seeping into his tone. 

"I've been kidnapped, Phil," Tommy pipes up from his spot at the table. "I'm being held captive. Call the police."

"Where did nice Tommy go? I want him back." 

"Nice Tommy? That exists? How come I've never met him?" Techno quips.

Phil laughs through the phone before returning to his father-mode. "How're you doing, Toms? Wilbur treating you alright?" 

"Yeah, s'alright," he mumbles, yawning. "My head hurts." 

Wilbur purses his lips, drifting over to Tommy's side. "Your fever's coming back, Toms." Tommy hums faintly, leaning into Wilbur's touch. "Here, just talk to Phil and Techno while I make your soup, okay?"

Tommy ends up asleep within thirty minutes, leaving Wilbur to chat idly with their friends as his soup heats up. 

"You said his fever got worse?" Phil asks.

"Yeah, poor kid was pretty bad when I picked him up from school. He wanted me to drop him off at home but I didn't want to leave him alone like that." 

"His parents aren't home?" Techno questions, and Wilbur can imagine his eyebrows drawing together. 

"No, he said they're on a trip or something."

"And he was just willing to go home by himself like that?" Phil murmurs, and Wilbur stirs the pot. 

"Yeah, felt really bad about bothering me too." 

"Hm, good thing he called you, mate. Has he been okay?" 

"He's been okay, kind of out of it. Soup's ready, though, so I'll call you guys back later with an update, okay?" 

"Bye Wilbur, call me later mate." 

"Take care of the gremlin for us."

Wilbur chuckles, "will do, talk to you guys later." 

He hangs up, pouring some of the soup into a bowl before turning to Tommy. He's passed out folded over the table, cheek pressed into the wood. He looks small when he's asleep, peaceful. Tommy looks more like a kid then ever (Wilbur refuses to acknowledge how his heart swells at the sight).

"Hey, Toms," he croons, running a hand through the boy's hair. "Can you wake up for me, big man? I made you soup."

"Mmh..w'lby?"

Wilbur smiles, "Yeah, it's me, Toms." 

"What 'appened to Phill and Techno?"

"I hung up after you fell asleep. Here, eat some soup, kid," he rumbles, sliding the bowl over. 

Tommy stares at the soup for a few moments, blinking. "Toms?"

"Oh. Thanks, Wilbur. You uh- didn't have to," he says, still staring at the soup. Why was he so hung up over some soup? Why was he feeling so emotional all of a sudden? _No one's ever made you soup when you're sick before,_ a little voice in him hisses. He pushes it away, grabbing the spoon. 

"No problem, Toms. We can go watch more movies when you're done, yeah? Your parents said you could stay over tonight."

"Thanks, W'lbr," he mumbles, feeling suspiciously close to tears. Why was Wilbur being so nice to him? After he interrupted his entire day, nonetheless. 

"No problem, kid. Go slow so you don't upset your stomach," he warns, ruffling Tommy's hair before going back out to the living room.

Tommy eats his soup slowly, wincing when his stomach turns. He feels nauseous and he can't tell if it's because of the tears he's suddenly fighting back or the sickness. Why does he feel like crying? The soup is warm and good and it makes him feel safe, and a foreign feeling takes up residence in his gut. He eats half of it before returning to the living room, guiltily pushing his bowl away. ( _He can't even eat all of the food Wilbur was so kind to have made him. Why does the older man even put up with him?_ )

He enters the living room and suddenly the need to cry only gets stronger. Wilbur's standing there, blankets gathered up in his arms. He's stuffed pillows onto the couch where he can, taking care to make it as comfortable as possible. A few more water bottles sit nearby and he spots the pill bottle from earlier on the counter. There's a box of chocolates sitting next to them, red and heart-shaped and terrible. Tommy loves it.

"Hey, Toms. You done with your-?" Wilbur turns, easy smile slipping from his face as his eyes meet Tommy's. "Toms?" He whispers, taking half a step forward. 

With a start, Tommy registers the wet tracks down his cheeks. He's crying. Why is he crying?

"Will-" he chokes out, suddenly unable to speak. He stumbles forward a step, and apparently that's enough for Wilbur to rush forward. He pulls Tommy into his arms, the younger boy folding into his chest. Tommy grips him tight, shoving his face into the man's shoulder. He doesn't know why he's crying, but now he is and he can't seem to stop ( _how annoying)._

"Hey, hey, shh. I've got you, Tommy, I've got you. What's wrong?" Wilbur's voice is so soft and caring and Tommy feels his chest ache _._

"I don't-" a gasp cuts him off "I don't _know,_ " he cries, because the truth is far too confusing _._ He pulls himself even closer to Wilbur.

"Hey, it's okay, Toms. C'mere, let's go to the couch, okay? I've got you." 

And Tommy stumbles after him, collapsing practically halfway into Wilbur's lap the second he sits down. The pillows are soft and the room is warm and Tommy cries harder. He's tucked into Wilbur's side, hiding his face in the older man's shoulder as he runs a hand through Tommy's hair. ( _He doesn't deserve this._ )

His sobs slow down to sniffles, and Tommy is staring blankly at the television as it illuminates their faces. It's noise filters through his ears without properly registering, and Wilbur leans further into him, rubbing a hand down his back. 

"You okay, Toms?" He murmurs, and there's nothing but concern dripping from his tone. 

"I'm just- I- sorry," he whispers, voice as hoarse as it was that morning when he first called. 

"You don't- shh, you have nothing to be sorry for, Toms," and Wilbur grips him tighter, but Tommy just shakes his head because _he doesn't get it._

"I'm- I'm wasting your time, you shouldn't need to look after me, Will-"

"No. Tommy, Toms, look at me," Wilbur says, voice oddly fierce as he guides Tommy to look at him (It still shakes slightly, but Tommy doesn't hear it). "You aren't wasting my time, okay? I brought you here because I wanted to, I care about you, Toms. You're- you're like my little brother."

Tommy blinks for a few moments before letting out a little laugh, wiping at his eyes as a few more tears escape him. "Don't say that. I'll cry." 

"It's true," Wilbur says, shifting to have both arms around Tommy. 

"... Yeah?"

"Yeah." 

Tommy smiles faintly, relaxing into Wilbur's hold. He smells like seafoam and pine, and Tommy wonders for a moment when he came to associate the smell with home.

They fall asleep on the couch surrounded by pillows and swathed in blankets, the smell of pine in the air and the tv humming in the background. 

When Tommy next wakes up, he's stumbling to the bathroom before he can fully register what's happening. It's dark, but the faint light from the tv guides his path as he throws himself down in front of the toilet in Wilbur's bathroom. He's shivering again, though his hair is damp with sweat, and he promptly empties his stomach. 

There's a distant rustling as Tommy heaves, stomach twisting painfully, until Wilbur appears by the door. It's unsurprising, he supposes, that his hasty exit woke the other man. He feels a twinge of guilt. 

"Oh, Toms," the older man murmurs, coming forward to kneel by his side. He feels hands in his hair and suddenly Wilbur is holding his sweat-soaked hair back and Tommy thinks he might cry again. When was the last time someone held his hair back when he was sick? Could he even remember? ( _He doesn't deserve it_.)

He's shaking as he finishes, almost slumping against the toilet bowl before Wilbur pulls him back. The older man soaks a rag and wipes his face gently, handing him a glass of water and some more medicine and Tommy wants to cry again. He doesn't, though, being far too tired, and simply accepts the glass with trembling fingers. The utter care Wilbur treats him with is so foreign, and Tommy wants to simultaneously soak it all up and run away. He's left standing still. 

Wilbur helps him up from the floor, supporting most of his weight as they make their way back to the couch. They fall into it again, and Wilbur pulls Tommy into his chest and Tommy just grips him tight. 

"M'sorry for waking you up," he murmurs, cool fabric of Wilbur's shirt against his cheek. 

"It was no problem, Toms, really. I _want_ to take care of you. That's what I'm here for, kid," and Wilbur's voice sounds far too fond.

Tommy doesn't respond for fear of crying again, instead hiding his face in Wilbur's chest with a little hum. Wilbur chuckles, and Tommy can feel the vibrations from it. 

Wilbur brings a hand up to card through Tommy's hair again, and the younger boy sighs. "Go to sleep, Toms. I'll be here in the morning," he rumbles. 

It's warm as Tommy feels himself drift off to sleep, and it's even more so when Wilbur starts to sing softly under his breath. It feels like home and smells like sea salt and pine trees, and maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Two Valentine's fics??? Yes. This one is for me because I am impulsive. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated!!! Hope you enjoyed :)


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